Real Magic

It's time to talk Harry.

I remember the moment I picked up Harry Potter. The cool blue book with the wispy-sort-of drawing across the front. It was the third installment: "Prisoner of Azkaban."

Yes I did start in the middle. And I know that's horrible, but I went back and read the first two shortly after. Don't get crazy.

But I remember the moment so well. I could walk back into Charter Oak High's library and I could point to you where the spot was, where with my head tilted to the side reading the title and saying,

"Ok, let's see what all the fuss is about..."

I would never be the same Andrea.

At that very instance, I evolved into different reader, a reader who was now hopelessly devoted to one universe. I was completely, totally, undoubtedly in love with...

J.K Rowling.

My fascination always lied in the author. Other girls were busy getting all hot and bothered about Harry, the weird girls got flustered with Ron, and all men around the world both old and young drooled over Hermione (don't let them tell you any different). But I, I was fascinated and in awe of the words I read. And the tremendously amount of talent I found in each chapter. Each new novel.

As a reader, I knew she was amazing. And as a writer, I cried.

I cried because it was something truly special to see what Rowling made: more readers.

I loved going to the midnight screenings of the movies: the air buzzing with Potter. Yet, nothing was special like the book parties. Going to Barnes & Noble at midnight and seeing people of all ages buzz around a bookstore. That was magic to me.

My life plan is quite simple: healthy, happy, family, good work, and rule the world and proclaim total literacy across the globe.

Simple.

Rowling has kinda beat me to the punch but I forgive her. In the end, I won't be selfish about how literacy becomes the next world power, but simply that it does.

This explains my large collection of literacy t-shirts I keep expanding and why going to the Festival of Books is my mecca.

Reading the seventh, and the last, Harry Potter was incredible journey and one of the most rewarding experiences as a reader. The real kick about J.K. is what she gives. She's quite the selfless writer and that's what captivates.

Harry, Hermione, Ron, and all the rest of the heros in her novels are selfless in their united pursuit to save what they love: each other.

Compassion AND Literacy?

J.K. Rowling is my queen.

*******

P.S. Part 1 of the Deathly Hollows film was magnificent. Part 2 will leave me as a big, fat, blobbering mess. I'll write my review of the entire cinematic journey then (July).

I know: the anticipation will be unbearable.

At Full Price

By popular demand (Deborah) I'm writing a new post. This is how "Ice Cream For Breakfast" universe works. You ask, I'm so grateful you read and want more-I immediately deliver.

Feel free to pester! (I might cry if you email me a request).

Anywho.

This is it:

Friends. Yeah, on this day of my birth, 24 years exactly. I'm thinking about friendship, my friends, and all future friends I kinda know or don't even know yet.

Naturally, nowadays, Facebook is a way to validate you are loved. If no one comments on your status or new uploaded photo or accepts your pending friend request you might as well accept, also, the fact that you're a loser. Viral high school. Fascinating!-No?

But if everything else fails, there's your birthday. And on your birthday, with your birthday reminder, the love is sure to come out. (You hope.)

Now on a serious, not making fun of Facebook note, I feel loved.

It's wild.

I've always told Alex that I do pretty much anything for a friend. No joke. You ask me at three in the morning to come to you and hug you while you cry about where you'll go in life or because you stubbed your toe, I'll be in my car-driving-while you're still sobbing through your "good-bye" and "see you soon."

I'm pretty crazy in love with my family. And the same goes for my friends: new, old, and best.

Today, what really got me thinking and writing this blog in my head while driving home from work, is the old friends, and the memories. I'm not gonna lie-I got pretty choked up when people reminisce and I'm a part of it-in a good way.

Yes, I'm sure over my 24 years I've had some real bitch moments. I am a Scorpio-both in all the good ways and the bad ways. I apologize for the sting. I try everyday to keep it tamed. At this age, I'm a master at it. You REALLY gotta push the button for it to come out.

But for the most part, I'm so amazed to report that the few memories shared today were happy. Simple. Me-just being me.

Wild.

Like any normal woman, I worry about several things I really shouldn't worry about: my face, my arm fat, my hips, my feet (man I need a pedicure), my belly fat (and the hidden abs I lost long ago), my hair, and my boobs. Yes, I worry about their daily statuses but I really don't think anyone else cares: enter friends. Friends care about the rude asshole customers I had to deal with on Monday and they care about how Alex is treating me and if not good, then he's getting a ball-kicking.

Friends care about the fact that you're still around. Living-breathing, and still existing as you. They appreciate all the idiosyncrasies that make you "Betty" or "Tom" or

"Andrea."

If there's anything I've contributed to this known world in my tiny dot of my life, it is my friendships. Even the ones that have been grown out or moved away from or simply grown distant from-the memories are there. And that smile when you think of them really can't fade.

Nostalgia: one helluva feeling. It's beautiful. Keeps you human.

I would really like a real bed with a bouncy, comfy mattress, or those new boots I saw at DSW, or even a trip to Italy. But in time, I might acquire such fabulous birthday gifts.

But for this 24th birthday, I'm happy to receive friends.

No discounts there.